An officer with a squad of men had been waiting on the bank. The men in the boats had started yelling happily at first sight of the officer, two of them calling him Billy. When the boat had touched, the weaker ones and the two wounded men had been lifted out and carried away by the soldiers. Watson had presented his pouch and been led to the bombproof. The officer had told him that both lists must be checked. Watson had given his name and asked for a safe-conduct pass. The officer, surprised, said he would have to see. Watson had nodded absently and muttered that he would check the lists himself later. He had peered through the darkness at the rampart. The men he would take back across the river stood there, but he turned away from them. He wanted no part of the emotions of the exchange, no memory of the joy and gratitude that other men felt. He had hoped to be alone in the bombproof, but the soldier had followed him. Though Watson carefully ignored the man, he could not deny his presence. Perhaps it would be better to speak to him, since silence could not exorcise his form. Watson glanced briefly at him, seeing only a body rigidly erect behind the languid banner.

- We won't be too long. If my pass is approved, I may be a half hour.

The soldier answered in a curious, muffled voice, his lips barely moving. Watson turned away and did not see the man's knees buckle and his body sag.